


The Fourth Night

by RationalCashew



Series: Christmas Eve and Other Stories [4]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, MSR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21970669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RationalCashew/pseuds/RationalCashew
Summary: Our adorable little dingbats face an upset in their week-long movie event.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: Christmas Eve and Other Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566076
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	The Fourth Night

It was a terrible way to wake up, really. Freezing. Aching. Head pounding. On the edge of vomiting.

Mulder willed himself to get out of bed and the room started spinning. He dropped back to the bed and crawled under the blanket. This couldn’t be happening.

He couldn’t get sick. Getting sick meant calling in. Calling in meant not being able to see Scully. Not being able to see Scully meant no movie night. No movie night meant no warm fire, no hot chocolate, and no Scully snuggled into him.

No. He couldn’t accept this.

He wouldn’t.

It was only when his phone rang, jarring him awake again, that he caught sight of the alarm clock and realized he was over an hour late.

Whether he liked it or not, it _was_ happening. He was sick and bound to the bed.

“Mulder,” he croaked.

“Mulder, it’s me,” Scully’s concerned voice came through the receiver. “Are you okay?”

“Sick,” was all he could manage to get out as he willed himself not to vomit.

She starting asking him a bunch of questions that were making his head spin.

“Get some rest,” she said softly. “I’ll come by and check on you on lunch.”

“Scully, you don’t—.”

“Skinner just walked in. I’ll see you in a little while.”

She didn’t wait around for him to say goodbye or to tell her to have a good day even though he wasn’t there to annoy her. The line just went dead.

He sighed and dropped the phone beside him on the bed. Mulder hugged his pillow tightly and drifted back to sleep.

Something cool on his forehead woke him and he forced his eyes to open. Scully was standing over him with a concerned look on her face. Mulder loved _and_ hated that look. He loved that she cared about him enough to get that look on her face but he hated that he caused it in the first place.

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly, running her fingers through his hair.

“Terrible,” he groaned. “I don’t get sick, Scully.”

She smirked in response. “Well, you _are_ sick. Your temperature is a hundred and one point three. Have you been able to keep down anything?”

“I haven’t tried to eat,” Mulder confessed. “I haven’t been able to keep down water.”

She nodded. “I brought some soup. I’ll bring you a little bit and see if you can keep it down. Okay? Keep that washcloth on your forehead.”

He nodded and shut his eyes again.

* * *

Mulder was completely out of it again when Scully came back with a small bowl of the soup she got from the bistro. With a sigh, she placed the bowl on the nightstand and tried to rouse him, but he only groaned and rolled over.

“Mulder,” she said, shaking him gently after getting a couple of Tylenol and a glass of water. He only groaned in response. “Mulder, come on, you need to take this. It’ll help with the aches and to get your fever down.”

He finally opened his eyes and looked at her. They were red and glossy and had no life or spark behind them. She hated that. He looked miserable.

“I have some Tylenol for you,” she repeated gently. “You need to take it to get your fever down. It’ll help with the aches.”

He nodded and sat up just enough to take the pills and sip the glass of water.

Scully absently ran her fingers through his damp hair and said, “I’ll call you in a couple of hours and come check on you after work, okay?” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, his skin hot against her lips.

Mulder nodded and mumbled something in response but, Scully couldn’t make out what he said. Before leaving, she took the bowl back to the kitchen, covered it, and put it in the fridge next to the container from the bistro. Scully refilled the glass of water and set it on the nightstand, placing two pills beside the glass and hoping he’d wake enough to see and take it.

* * *

He woke feeling just well enough that the room wasn’t spinning and his body didn’t ache as badly. He’d vomited a few times, barely making it to the bathroom every time. Although he felt a little better, he still felt terrible.

Mulder recalled what he thought was a dream in which Scully came to check in on him. She’d gotten him soup, although he couldn’t eat it. She’d brought him medicine and taken his temperature, taken care of him. Before she left, she’d pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her lips were cool against his skin.

It wasn’t until he saw the Tylenol and water on the nightstand that he’d realized it had actually happened. He took the medicine and drained the glass of water, hoping to actually keep it down this time, and padded toward the kitchen for a refill.

He was surprised to find the TV on and Scully curled up in the corner of the couch—where _he_ usually sat, wrapped in his Navajo blanket. She was watching some claymation Christmas movie.

“Scully?”

She turned to face him. “Hey!” The blanket dropped from her shoulders and she walked toward him. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he sighed.

She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Seems like your fever’s down. That’s good. Do you think you can eat anything? I picked up some soup on my way over when I came over earlier. I was going to heat it up when I got here, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

He studied her for a moment, in awe. Mulder had seen so many different aspects of her over the years and, especially lately. He’d loved seeing the Dana Scully she shared with him over the last few days. But, this… This was the Dana Scully that took care of him.

“Mulder?” Her eyebrows knit in visible concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he all but whispered. “I’d kiss you right now if it wouldn’t make you sick, too.”

“Save it for when you’re feeling better,” she replied with a grin. His breath caught at the presupposition that he was allowed to kiss her now; that she expected it. “Do you think you can eat something?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to keep down water today.”

She nodded thoughtfully and he wondered what was going through that beautiful brain of hers.

“Go sit on the couch and I’ll reheat your soup. Hopefully, now that your fever is down, you’ll be able to eat it.”

He nodded and obediently went to the couch. He really didn’t have the energy to fight her on it. And, if he was being honest, he didn’t want to make her leave; having her there was comforting.

A few minutes later, Mulder heard the microwave ding and, shortly after that, Scully entered the living room with a bowl in one hand and a glass and some crackers in the other.

“See if you can eat this,” she said, setting everything down on the coffee table one at a time. “The 7-Up might help settle your stomach, too.”

“Thank you,” he replied, sincerely. Scully sat down beside him and it was then that he noticed she had a salad that she was probably eating when he woke up. He grinned after a bite of soup. “All we’re missing is the all-you-can-eat breadsticks.”

She stared at him before the joke dawned on her. “At least, your sense of humor is coming back.”

He smiled and took another bite.

“What are we watching?” He asked.

“ _The Little Drummer Boy_ ,” Scully replied. “We can put on something else if you want.”

He eyed her carefully and said, “Why don’t we just start it over?”

Scully gave him a sweet smile, nodded, and got up to rewind the tape.

The movie had barely been on for ten minutes when Mulder had eaten all he thought he could stomach and laid down across the couch, using Scully’s lap as a pillow. He’d pulled the Navajo blanket over himself and sent up a silent prayer to whatever was listening that he'd kept down the soup. At least through the movie. He could puke while they switched tapes.

If she brought a second one, he added to himself. He hadn’t expected Scully to be there at all.

His eyes started to feel heavy as she ran her fingers through the hair.

“You take good care of me,” he said sleepily.

“Someone has to.”

Mulder didn’t need to see her face to know she was grinning. He could hear it in her voice.

“I’m sorry I ruined the movie night.”

“You didn’t ruin it, Mulder.”

“I can barely keep down water. The soup is to be determined. No real dinner. No hot chocolate. No fire.”

Her hand stopped moving and he immediately regretted saying anything.

“You didn’t ruin anything, Mulder,” she insisted, her voice calm and even but with a hint of affection. Her fingers moved through his hair again.

“I didn’t?” He asked, dubiously. He couldn’t keep his eyes open while she did that.

“We’re watching a movie, aren’t we?”

Mulder might not have been able to open his eyes and he might have been fighting with the uneasiness in his stomach, but he could still grin. And, he did just.

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he promised.

“Just focus on getting better,” she replied.

A couple of minutes later, he was sound asleep again with Scully still running her fingers through his hair and the sounds of _The Little Drummer Boy_ coming from the television.


End file.
